A Climb to the Snows
It is impossible to live any length of time in close proximity to
Ruwenzori without being overcome with a desire to reach the land of
glittering ice that resembles an enchanted city with its pinnacles,
turrets and domes pointing upward to the sun, which with all its
equatorial strength has ineffectually endeavoured to displace the
age-long snows and ice. The highest point has, in recent years, been
estimated to reach an altitude of 20,000 to 22,000 feet. The snows are
not often clearly visible, for in the dry season the hot heavy mist that
envelops the whole country completely hides the range from view, while
in the wet season clouds frequently veil the highest peaks. From the
glaciers rush numerous streams that flow down into the Albert Edward
Lake, and out again by the River Semliki to the Albert Lake and the Nile.
In ancient times an Egyptian caravan road extended right down into these
interior districts along the route of this great natural watercourse.
Doubtless the Egyptians, and probably Solomon, drew their supplies of
ivory from the vast herds of elephants that still ramble about round
Ruwenzori with tusks some weighing 150 to 200lbs. each.
[Illustration: STIFF CLIMBING: A CLIMB TO THE SNOWS.]
The old legend that the sacred river Nile had its source in Heaven may
have originated from the reports brought back by traders that one of its
most important tributaries flowed down from a mountain that seemed to
reach into Heaven. The Baganda call the mountain “Gambalugula lufumba
ebiri,” which means “the leaf that cooks the clouds.” This has reference
to their custom of cooking all their food in banana leaves. Their
imagination regards the mountains as a big leaf which holds the clouds
over the boiling springs that bubble up from the base of the mountain,
the mists that sweep down the mountain sides is the stream from the
“cooking pot.”
Ruwenzori does not consist of one single snow peak like Kilimanjaro and
Kenia, but vast fields of intercepted snow and ice extend for over twenty
miles North and South.
The late Sir Henry Stanley heard of its existence in 1875, but not until
his second visit to its locality in 1887 did he obtain a complete view of
the snows.
Since that date several have tried to reach the glaciers, but only three
expeditions had been successful up to the time of our ascent. Others
had proved unfortunate in the time of year, for it is impossible to
accomplish the task in the wet season. Mountain sickness, and pneumonia
among the carriers had compelled others to turn back from the attempt.
Until 1904 no one had tried to reach the snows from the Western side of
the mountain range. From the east several had unsuccessfully endeavoured
to discover a route to higher altitudes, but the one along the course of
the Mubuku River was the only one that had proved practicable. During
our visit to Mboga we were very fortunate to obtain continual views of
the snow peaks, and we were convinced that an ascent from that side of
the mountains would prove more resultful. This has been conclusively
confirmed since by a recent explorer, Dr. David, who reached a point
16,000 feet high; that is, 1,200 feet higher than anyone previously. To
scale Ruwenzori’s highest point must remain an impossible task. No one
could endure the penetrating cold for the period of time required to
master the prolonged and precipitous heights. Besides a complete Alpine
outfit being required, tent and food would be compulsory, and no native
would undertake the transport of these things beyond the lowest glacier
point, and even if this difficulty could be overcome, camping space might
be sought for in vain. Judging from the angle at which my bed was placed
at one camp, I can picture an over ambitious adventurer, having pitched
his tent within 3,000 feet of the summit, suddenly finding himself and
his belongings toboganning down over the glaciers at lightning speed,
only stopping to find himself landed in a freezing morass.
[Illustration: A PEEP AT THE SNOWS.]
In 1903, Rev. A. L. Kitching, Mr. Fisher, and myself started off for a
trip to that unfrequented region. Our baggage looked more suitable for
a Polar expedition than a climb on the Equator. Every conceivable fusty
and moth eaten winter garment was hauled out and packed into a waterproof
sack; eider-down quilts, India rubber foot warmers, and bales of blankets
for ourselves and boys formed part of the caravan. The reports of our
mountaineering predecessors led us to anticipate an arduous and colossal
task, but our ambition was not to attempt more than those who had a
wider experience in mountain climbing than ourselves, but to stand on
that untraversed land of ice where scarcely mortal foot had trod, and
to inhale its cool life-giving air so that we might be refreshed for a
return to work in the hot tiring lowlands.
January was the time fixed on for the expedition. That is generally
regarded as one of the most reliably dry months in the year, but the
mountains manage to upset all one’s calculations, and in Toro fine
weather is more the exception than the rule. So we found ourselves in
a few very stiff storms before we had even reached the base of the
mountains. Our porters were aggravatingly discouraging, and on the first
day, regarding my skirt flapping about after a drenching shower, shook
their heads, and said, “Perhaps the two Bwanas will reach the snows, but
who ever heard of a woman doing it.” They did not understand that their
very argument was one of my strongest incentives! Four days of strong
marching from Kabarole brought us to a village of the Bakonjo called
Bihunga. It was about 6,000ft. high, tucked away in the very heart of
the mountains. Frowning peaks and ridge upon ridge of dense foresting
completely shut us in from the outside world. Save for the noise of
the River Mubuku, as it rushed madly down and tumbled into the valley
beneath, there was no sound to break the deep silence of the mountains.
All nature was at perfect peace with itself, and the few clouds that
seemed wearied in their flight through the hot, dry air rested for a
while on the green slopes as if to enjoy the quiet and beauty of the
scene. It was to these strongholds that the Batoro fled in past times
for security when the raiding King Kabarega of Bunyoro made plundering
expeditions into their country. Although they found safety and shelter
in the thickly-wooded crevices and creeks, the refugees searched in vain
for food, and while some were able to drag through the time of their
temporary captivity by subsisting on the roots and leaves of wild plants,
hundreds are said to have died from hunger and exposure.
The so-called village at which we halted was a collection of three tiny
circular huts, built of poles packed as closely together as possible.
Round and outside these was tied a thick padding of dried banana bark,
leaves, and saplings, as protection from the gales and storms that blew
down from the snows and whistled round these little dwellings.
[Illustration: SNOW PEAKS.]
A grandsire and his dame, two sons, one daughter-in-law, and an infant
composed the entire population. The old man, in a very contented state
of mind, sat in the doorway of his hut smoking a pipe over a foot
in length. He gave us a most reassuring smile of welcome. The two
females, heavily decked round the knees and arms with scores of plaited
and greased bracelets, immediately made off with themselves into the
thick vegetation, and only came out of their hiding by a great deal
of persuasion. We explained to the people the object we had in view,
and how we wanted to leave our Batoro porters with them to await our
return, while we took on men from among them who were acquainted with the
mountains and inured to the cold. The two young men at once offered their
services, and promised instantly to get together as many other porters
as required. We wondered how they could do this, as there was no sign of
a habitation, excepting two lonely huts on a far distant height. But,
after making a long, far-reaching sound with their lips, there suddenly
appeared, as if by magic, quite a number of figures emerging from far and
near. The Bakonjo, in the old times of rapine and oppression, had chosen
out the most secluded spot where they might safely build their homes, and
they still adopt this practice, from custom—no longer from necessity.
Among the dense forest growth it is quite impossible to detect their
huts, and as only a very small minority of the Bakonjo cultivate the
soil, there is nothing around to indicate human existence.
As is the case among most of these tribes, the women do all the digging
and sowing, but they are very few in number as compared with the men, and
in consequence are regarded as valuable property, and not to be worked
to excess. Being naturally more prone to indolence than industry, the
furnishing of the daily board depends almost solely on what the husbands
can bring in from the hunt and exchange, but they generally keep in
store a stock of arum roots (the women’s cultivation) on which they can
fall back when fortune fails the huntsmen. The men are a striking race,
their arduous searching after rats and conies (hyrax) often leads them
up to the regions of ice; this constant climbing and exposure to the
cold have developed their muscles in a remarkable manner, and with the
surefootedness of a mule and lightness of a gazelle they spring up the
steepest bank and rock, experiencing no fatigue.
Besides being their chief item of diet, the coney supplies them with
practically their sole clothing. Six or eight of the little skins are
sewn together, and worn over the shoulders, secured by a thin piece of
hide round the neck.
Although the conies have enough sense of self-preservation to burrow
among the rocks for shelter, they have not sufficient instinct to escape
their capturers when once they have tracked them down. The men sit
patiently for hours outside the conies’ entrance door, and when at last
the little creatures come out in single file to search for a meal, a
stick suddenly descends on one head after another; sometimes fourteen to
fifteen in one family are killed off in this way.
Twenty men were chosen out, from those that offered, to act as carriers,
two more were appointed guides, and two of special strength were told
off to help me over the exceptionally rough bits of climbing. While the
necessary agreements were being gone through, the sky became suddenly
overcast with dense, threatening clouds, and a loud clap of thunder,
that reverberated all round us again and again, scattered us in every
direction with great speed to our several homes. From the tiny window of
our bedraggled tent we peeped out at the storm, as the forked lightning
struck one peak after another almost simultaneously, and the thunder
concussions made the very mountains tremble.
[Illustration: SNOW PEAKS.]
An Academy picture, of many years back, illustrating Dante’s Inferno,
seemed to have assumed living form here. It was almost impossible to
believe that such a transformation could have taken place in so short a
time, for in comparatively few minutes day was plunged into night, calm
into torrential storms, and quietude into a fierce battle of the elements.
When we at last ventured to draw back the canvas doorway the rain had
ceased, and mud, mud, mud lay everywhere. The storm had left behind it
a cold, raw, dismal evening. And there drawn up in single file before
the tent were our twenty porters and guides, who, in order to appear
more pathetic, had come without their fur shoulder garments. One of the
guides stepped forward as spokesman and explained that they wanted to be
paid in advance. They absolutely refused shells and rupees, and would
only accept calico, which, they said, would protect them from the cold
on the journey to the snows. Judging from the quantity of clothes we
had heaped already on ourselves to keep off the penetrating damp wind,
their demand threatened to be a real difficulty, as we had only equipped
ourselves with a limited supply of calico. They were then asked what
length of material each required as wages, and in a half timid voice, as
if afraid of uttering such an extortion, the answer came “three hands
apiece” (one and a half yards). Our calico managed to run to that, and
thereupon each man received his advance payment. With a broad grin of
satisfaction and pride they struggled to tuck as much of themselves as
possible inside their fifty-four inches of material. The result was quite
ludicrous, but they appeared perfectly delighted. Evidently their plea
had only been a ruse to insure their wages, for none of the calico was
seen on the journey. The only personal impedimenta with which most of
them travelled were a few strands of smouldering grass encased in a bark
sheath. This was brought out immediately we struck camp, and they had
ferretted out a shelter for themselves under a rock or trees. A fire was
quickly kindled, and round this they all squatted and roasted the conies
they had entrapped during the day’s climb. At night they did not attempt
to erect a hut or covering, but maintained this same cramped position
round the fire; they interlaced arms, and each one slept with his head
resting on the next man’s shoulder. On one occasion the rain poured down
upon them all night long, and although their little shoulder coney-skins
were hopelessly inadequate to insure them against a thorough soaking,
they turned up in the morning in the most cheerful spirits, absolutely
unaffected by their uncongenial surroundings.
In preparing for the actual ascent to the snows from Bihunga we were
obliged to reduce our outfit to mere essentials. A large caravan would
have experienced considerable difficulty in the matter of food; and each
man was only able to carry a load of twenty to twenty-five pounds, which
was fastened to a strong sling of fibre and slipped round the forehead.
This method of carrying is adopted by the Bakonjo tribe, and leaves
the arms perfectly free for climbing up on fours, which is so often
necessary. I was the only member of the party privileged with a bed; the
two men had to content themselves with waterproof sacks and blankets. Our
boys judged spoons, forks, and knives as non-essentials and reduced us
to two forks and one pen-knife, so for some days we had to return to the
most primitive manners at meal-times. Our first day’s real climbing began
in a kind of retrograde direction, for we had to slide down a hopelessly
greasy track for some two hundred yards. My two supporters evidently
anticipated a lively time; they were required to render aid at once; the
fact was, my feet refused to stick, and in struggling to keep me back
with yards of calico brought round under my arms, I nearly succeeded in
dragging them down head-first. They were urged to manage better than
that, and they promised to improve, but explained how they had had no
practice at that kind of travelling, and were a little unprepared for it.
I again tried the plan of a calico body sling when a very steep bracken
ascent had to be scaled, and the sun was at its height. The men went in
front, each pulling most vigorously at the calico end which he held, but
they somehow always managed to jerk in the wrong place. Just as I had
breathlessly succeeded in securing a foothold a big pull from the front
almost robbed me of my last gasp. So I dispensed with such questionable
aid and found all the help I wanted in a long bamboo which our guide
presented to me as a kind of charm, for it had taken him up to the
glacier when he escorted Sir Harry Johnston’s expedition. At an altitude
of seven thousand feet we reached the point where tropical vegetation
assumes its most exquisite form. The river Mubuku had to be crossed and
recrossed six times in the one march, and all along its river bed was
the richest display of varied forms of vegetable life. Several species
of palm trees, a few wayward bamboos, tree-ferns, a tree resembling the
English yew, and the bright red-flowering Ekirikiti tree. The forests
passed through frequently recalled some of the most charming parts of
Devonshire; the ground was carpeted with ferns and moss interspersed with
forget-me-nots and orchids.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE MULUKU RIVER.]
At Bihunga we left behind all human habitation. Our first halt after
leaving it was under a rock at a height of eight thousand feet. From
the almost intolerable silence it seemed as if we had also got beyond
all animal life. We listened in vain for the insect’s hum, the bird’s
chirrupping, or the squabbling of the monkeys. However, similar welcome
sounds had not entirely ceased, for very occasionally a night bird
hooted, a rat squeaked, or a solitary fly cheered us with its living
presence.
Our camping space was decidedly cramped, and the tent felt very insecure,
for it was impossible to drive poles or pegs into the rocks; the canvas
merely had to be balanced by tying the ropes to large stones. Water was
also very scarce, and, in spite of a consuming thirst after our hot
climb, we were obliged to content ourselves with two cups of tea and half
that amount for a wash down.
The region of Bamboo Forests was next reached, and it was disappointing
to find that what looked so attractive from a distance beneath when
seen from within was nothing but a monotonous stretch of stiff brown
sticks surmounted by masses of green grass. The bamboos had completely
monopolised the soil to the exclusion of almost every other plant. For
hours we were pushing our way through these obstinate poles that would
not bend or budge an inch to let us through. Men went before to slash
them down, and as we stumbled over the broken stems my poor skirt was
literally torn into shreds, even though it had been shortened eight
inches the previous day. Emerging from bamboo-land we crossed a stretch
of marsh and found ourselves surrounded by frowning bare rock peaks which
rose almost perpendicularly from where we stood. Pointing up to a spot
about one thousand feet above us, our guide indicated the only possible
halting place. Although so near, it took us over two hours to reach; with
the utmost caution we had to drag our bodies up the sheer face of the
rocks. At one place we had recourse to a rough native ladder formed of
two long bamboo poles with rungs of the same tied with grass. This was
placed against an absolutely smooth-faced stretch of rock, where for a
space of ten to fifteen feet no hold could be obtained. To add to the
danger, strong mountain streams were pouring down over the rocks, not
only soaking us through, but making our grip less secure. Certainly I had
never before been in such a critical position; it was quite impossible
to get a real firm footing, and one slip might have resulted in dragging
others down into the seething waters and rocks that lay beneath.
[Illustration: KICUCEI CAMP.]
On reaching the top, vegetation assumed an entirely new form. The only
trees were gigantic heaths, but it was almost impossible to distinguish
them, for the stems were covered with a thick moss, which in some places
was 12 inches deep. In colouring it varied from a dark brown to a light
golden or deep red. The trees were almost entirely denuded of leaf, and
festoons of whitish lichen hung from branch to branch. The ground was
very marshy, for the hills that enclosed us emptied down into it numerous
small torrents. About fifteen square yards of dry land was found on which
to erect our tent and hang up the clothes to dry. Our stout marching
boots had already succumbed to the rough usage, and we each took a
strong needle and thread to see who could turn out the neatest job. In
the evening the rain poured down upon us in a deluge, and continued all
night till it even penetrated the double roof of our canvas waterproof
tent; besides this, as we were now at an altitude of 10,000ft., the cold
was indescribable. Each breath we took seemed to cut at the chest like
a knife, and, in spite of blankets and an eider-down, it was impossible
to sleep with the damp piercing cold. All the following day the rain
continued and kept us prisoners at this indescribably cheerless spot. I
had time to overhaul the shattered skirt; it looked a hopeless task, for
it really would not bear shortening again. The advice was then given me
to cut it up and put it into bands under the knees, which I acted upon
on hearing the toughest bit of climbing was yet to come. When we were
at last able to push on, and the garment was worn with puttees and a
football jersey, I felt like an evoluted man.
For three hours from Kicucu camp we did not once touch the ground; during
the whole of that time we were slowly climbing with hands and feet over
fallen heather that for scores of years must have lain in that position,
only becoming more seasoned with time. The thick moss that still clung
on to the slender bark was very deceptive, and, when mistaken for firm
soil, broke away from the tree and one suddenly found oneself slipping
down, down between branches and barks; fortunately there was a depth of
fallen forest underneath, and this saved me from disappearing beyond the
armpits. These heaths grow on the rocks in a very thin surface soil which
is not able to support them when they reach great heights, consequently
the tree falls, and in this way the irregular jagged rocks have been
bridged and joined up by the continually increasing amount of timber
thrown across.
[Illustration: MULUKU GLACIER.]
Having once disentangled ourselves from this tumbled-down forest, a
weird scene was opened out before us. Almost surrounded by a lofty ridge
of rocks was a wide river basin fed by the melting snow from above.
With the exception of one waterfall which poured down from a height of
about 200 feet, the water did not descend in streams, but fell slowly in
sheets from the surrounding rocks. The few trees visible were entirely
enveloped in the white lichen, and the ground was covered with thick drab
moss, dwarf cactus plants, and a tall green poker called by botanists
lobelia, but resembling in shape Cleopatra’s needle. The effect was
that of a world tottering in its old age on the verge of death—it was
easier to imagine it another planet, for is it possible to recognise
Earth without voice, without colouring, and almost without life. We
plunged through this morass and found the moss saturated like a sponge
with freezing water. The effect was chilling in the extreme, and before
we had crossed it half way my limbs felt quite numbed with the cold; I
scarcely knew how I dragged myself up into our last camp. The roof only
of our tent was somehow fixed up under a rock, over the entrance of which
water continuously trickled. But these little discomforts were quite
forgotten when towards sunset the clouds rolled away and the land of snow
and ice was revealed crowning near ridges and peaks with its dazzling
whiteness, while in the hollows and clefts all round lay patches of
glistening ice. Before sunrise next morning we were all astir, impatient
to reach the goal of our expectations. The air was clear and crisp,
patches of freshly fallen snow lay around us on all sides, icicles hung
from the rocks, and little frozen puddles glistened like glass. The wet
penetrating cold of the two previous days was now exchanged for the dry
frosty breezes that nipped toes, finger-tips, nose, and ears. Although
the thermometer had fallen to freezing point, no numbing sensation was
experienced; but as the blood tingled through the veins it seemed to
impart a feeling of rejuvenation, and an uncontrollable exhilaration laid
hold of the spirits. In the valley of the Muluku glacier vegetation had
once more assumed its healthy green colouring; a little silver-leafed
buttercup even ventured to peep out at us, and a tiny white flower,
almost identical with the Swiss edelweiss, concealed itself among the
rocks. This beautiful little fertile spot seemed a special pet of the
snow mountains, for they clasped it in their great white arms as if
desiring that its only life should impart some degree of warmth to their
implacable nature.
Ruwenzori certainly has not left one point of its snows unfortified
against intruders. Having taken possession of the most unconscionable
heights, all sorts of subtle man-traps have been laid up the mountain’s
sides, and even if an attempt is made to merely stand on the threshold
of its domain an almost impassible rock barrier guards the portal, just
as the adventurer imagines all difficulties have been passed. But that
realm of ice allures one on to dare much, and so while two ropes were
thrown down from above the forbidding rocks, one was hastily tied round
the body and with the other we slowly climbed up hand over hand. Twice
we attempted this performance, and twice we succeeded in mastering the
situation, and then—we stood face to face with one of Ruwenzori’s
glaciers. It was in the shape of a huge, open mouth, and as it slowly
pushed its way down into the valley, the tongue collected the few
fragments rubbed off the rocks and taken up from the soil, but the cave
itself was one spotless mass of dazzling white.
We had decided to dismiss any idea of prolonging our stay at this
altitude, realizing the terrible suffering that this involved among the
porters in previous expeditions, so, instead of using any of the precious
time in attempting to reach a higher point, which seemed futile without
Alpine implements, we explored the Muluku glacier cave, from which flows
that remarkable river that carries its cool, life-giving stream into the
scorching plain till it loses itself in the Albert Edward Lake.
Only one of our personal boys had succeeded in facing out the
difficulties of the climb. While standing on the ice with us, he took out
from his pocket a little tin pot, which he filled with ice. He explained
it was a present for his wife. Afterwards, when we had descended to camp,
he took it out to show the other boys, and, although disgusted beyond
measure at the trick nature had played him, he consoled himself by taking
the water to his wife to explain to her how it was once a stone.
Scrambling up on to the glacier, we looked beyond over miles and miles of
ice that for hundreds of years God—the Creator—alone had been beholding.
Although we were standing nearly 14,000ft. above sea-level, the highest
peak, that rose as a white dome above its companions, appeared miles
above us. It was difficult to judge of its approximate height, as so
many other points intervened, but it could not have been much less than
20,000ft.
[Illustration: BACK FROM THE SNOWS: BAKONJO PORTERS.]
Having climbed above cloud-land, there was nothing to break the reflex in
the ice of the deep sapphire sky, and as the sun poured down its white
heat, the whole world around glittered and sparkled with iridescent hues.
“A step ... opened to my view,
Glory beyond all glory ever seen
By waking sense or by the dreaming soul!
The appearance, instantaneously disclosed,
Was of a mighty city—boldly say
A wilderness of building, sinking far
And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth
Far sinking into splendour—without end!
Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,
With alabaster domes and silver spires
And blazing terrace upon terrace high
Uplifted ... Forms uncouth of mightiest power
For admiration and mysterious awe.”